Games In The Dark
by nothinbuttherain
Summary: Emotions running high feelings they've been ignoring for a while come to the surface and an impulsive hook-up after the memorial service of a mutual friend leads to a relationship neither of them could have anticipated or prepared for but will change them both. My take on a relationship between Kim and Cho, set some time after the season 6 finale, M rating for sexual content.
1. Habits

**Chapter 1 **

Habits

Everyone around her seems to exist on another plane. Familiar faces from a lifetime ago. That she knows as though they were known to her in a past life. If such things existed. And in some ways that's true...They don't know her. She doesn't know them. But they say each other's names like they do.

But it's not her. It's a different Kim that they knew. She's not the same person they expect. But close enough to let them try. Let them try and talk. Connect. Share their grief.

She wants none of it.

All around her people. Talking. Mourning. Dragging up ancient history that she told herself that she'd forgotten a long time ago. That she'd gone through hell to make herself forget a long time ago. Hearing it now meant she hadn't done enough. Meant she never could. Old memories buzzing around her ears like flies. Happy. Sad. Funny. Sombre. True. False. All unbearable.

She turns. Avoiding a tray of altogether too tempting alcohol that floats towards her. Ducks out of the way of yet another person claiming to know who she was before, to share in feelings she wasn't even sure she felt. To drown her in more common courtesy and empty words that filled her time and her head and clogged her memories and her patience and drained her.

She could feel a lump rising in her throat. If there were to be tears they would not be shed here, for their eyes, for their distraction and false comfort.

They would be between her and whatever dead men heard or knew or cared enough to notice, they were for them.

She sped up. She found a gap. She already knew the location of every exit. Habits. Old and new. Her feet carried her to the nearest one. She fumbled with the handle. Wrenched her arm instinctively from the light flutter of fingers at her elbow that she never gave the chance to be hostile or consoling.

Some excuse found its way to her lips. Some lie. That came too easily. She had spent too much of her life lying. Undercover, they called it. It meant freedom, now. It meant that she could slip away, unchallenged. From some stranger she didn't know. And never would. And it didn't matter, she thought. They were all too similar in the end. All human. All lying. But her lies let her flee. The irony was that what she called freedom was the cause of her being caged for so long...

Her lungs gratefully drunk in the clear, fresh air. The spoils of her escape filled her and calmed her. Alone out here to enjoy them. She let her eyes open once more. And found her vision blurred. A thin film of tears that did not quite belong to her covering her eyes. She brushed them away then glanced around her. More habits.

She was alone, still, to her relief.

Another old habit called to her, as it hadn't done in a while. A faint smile covered her lips as her fingers curled around fate. Or near enough as it got. She never used this bag. And yet there they were. Just when she needed them. She dug around a little more, almost giving up for the sake of servicing irony, before triumphantly pulling out a lighter.

She smiled again as the obedient flame leapt up to attention at her command. She watched it for a moment before raising it to the cigarette nestled between her lips. A thin trail of smoke sparked her interest, finding her nose and filling her senses before she drew it deep into her lungs. Something flickered across her face, a grimace or the ghost of a smile she was never sure.

It tasted like she remembered. Harsh, bitter, with the lingering warnings of a hundred different people telling her she'd regret it. She tasted that for a moment too, and then forgot it.

The smoke scratched the back of her throat and stung, her body not expecting the sudden injection of poison into her system that she had gone so long without.

Her eyes closed and she swayed slightly on the spot as her head spun momentarily. She paused, and then raised it to her lips once more.

"That'll kill you, you know."

The voice behind her was strangely welcome. She smiled at the irony of his comment, given what had been murmuring through her thoughts for the last few minutes, and chose to answer him while she considered after another drag on the cigarette, "So I've heard." She murmured, not looking round.

"I never had you down as a smoker." He told her, trademark flatness resonating through his words.

"Neither did I." She replied, vaguely, "I haven't touched one in..." she paused, having to think for a moment, before shrugging and supplying, "Years now..."

"So why tonight?" He asked, his eyes looking for hers to gauge her reaction as she answered.

She glanced away from him as she said lightly, "Well human beings aren't supposed to be perfect, they're supposed to have flaws." She smirked humourlessly and tipped the cigarette between her fingers towards him, "This is mine."

He favoured her with a rare half smile.

Her eyes flickered towards him again, killing time and letting it burn its way out, smoke winding around them. "If it bothers you I can put it out."

He looked back towards her and raised an eyebrow. She smiled and drew it away from her lips and stubbed it out, her eyes remaining, almost insolently, on him as she did so. She raised her hands to show them they were empty then slid back to his side.

She looked away from him, staring straight ahead without really seeing anything.

"So why the slip?" he asked again.

She pulled herself back to him, playing for time, asking him quietly, "What do you mean?" While she knew perfectly well.

"Years without a smoke. Then you slip up today. Why?" he asked curtly.

She was too used to his bluntness by now to bother trying to find offence in the flat question and simply paused then shrugged and turned away from him, muttering defensively, "It's a memorial service, emotions running high. I'm upset..." She trailed off, shaking her head and looking straight ahead once more, wondering why she had said that to him.

"How did you know him?" he asked her quietly, giving her a way out.

"Work." She told him vaguely, not willing to commit to anything more just yet. Not sure how she would even begin to go about explaining it. She shifted uncomfortably in place and then asked a question of her own, "I didn't know you knew him. Where did you run across him?"

"Work." He told her smoothly, something like a smile flickering in his eye.

She glanced over at him, half amused, half irritated. He stepped back a little, crossing his arms over his chest as he answered calmly, "I worked with him on a lot of cases. He was a good lawyer."

"Yeah..." She murmured absently, "Yeah he was." She hesitated, wondering how much she was prepared to tell him. She wanted to talk to someone. She needed to talk to someone. But she wasn't sure...He was watching her with quiet, guarded eyes, waiting, without pressure, giving her the option of talking to him.

Before she was quite aware of what was happening, words were spilling from her lips, "He was a good lawyer." She found herself agreeing, her words coming too fast, her fingers curling tightly around the railing in front of her, "He was a better agent." She shivered, dipping her head as she said hoarsely, "And he was a good man."

He watched her in silence for several long minutes before, "He was." He agreed firmly.

She met his eyes again as she asked, "You knew him well?"

"Yeah." He told her, nodding. "We worked a lot of high profile cases up in Sacramento. The trials were long, the prep work longer. We spent a lot of time together. I trusted him." He said, nodding curtly, "not something I say of a lot of lawyers." He added flatly.

She let herself smile, almost fondly. "I told him. His face was too honest to be a lawyer's face. They'd never take him seriously. He just smiled and told me he'd make them."

"They did." He told her quietly.

"Yeah, they did." She turned away again, irritably wiping her eyes.

"You okay?" He asked gently.

"Sure. I'm fine." She told him easily, "It's just...Weird. Hearing everyone talking about him and...It just dragged some stuff up for me that's all." She said, losing her nerve at the last minute and backing out.

"You want to talk about it?" He offered gently.

'No' was her first reaction but she suppressed it a little, "I don't know." She told him haltingly. She didn't. It was usually so easy to shut people out. They were always too keen, too eager to feed off of pain and grief and to sink their teeth into anything that could entertain them for an evening. In a way, they cared less than those who were entirely disinterested, asking out of some sort of compulsion or feeling that they should without any intention of listening to answer.

But he was easy to talk to. Almost too easy. But she was fast moving beyond the point of caring about that. She trusted him. Trusted him enough to put her life in his hands almost every day. And perhaps enough to trust her secrets to him for a night.

He considered her for a moment before asking quietly, "You want to go somewhere else? Somewhere quiet?"

She hesitated, having to contain the defensive, instinctive reaction that demanded to know why he was asking her that. Buying her time and shutting him down. It was a stupid question. They both knew why. They both knew she'd come out here to escape rather than to grab a cigarette and some air.

Instead, she hesitated for a moment, and then asked softly, "What did you have in mind?"

He waited a bat then, "I have a room booked at the hotel."

"That's a little presumptuous isn't it?" She asked lightly, considering this.

"It's quiet." He told her smoothly, "We can talk." He paused a moment then deadpanned, "That was presumptuous."

That wrung a little smile from her. She glanced down for a moment then up again, deciding, nodding, "I'd like that."

The room he had for the night was simply furnished but surprisingly spacious. A large double bed sat proudly at the end of the room beside two large glass doors that led out onto a small private balcony area.

She walked around it, her eyes almost subconsciously mapping the space, furniture positions, doors, windows. But they kept flicking back to him, standing still in the middle of the room, following her restless pacing.

Once she had satisfied her habits she took a seat on the edge of the bed, only making eye contact with him again when he perched beside her.

"You're not okay." He told her flatly, not leaving room for an answer or a denial.

"What gave me away?" She demanded flippantly.

"Everything." He informed her bluntly.

"Really?" She muttered, turning away from him.

He still wasn't prying or pushing her into talking to him, which she was grateful for. But even so...

"You're not yourself." His voice was softening a little as he realised that she wasn't going to fight him on any of this.

"No." She murmured softly, feeling her body shaking slightly, acutely aware of his proximity, trying to stop herself from doing so.

"Do you want to talk about anything?"

She did.

"I don't know where to start." She mumbled to her hands, twisting together in her lap.

"What if I start?" He offered quietly.

She looked up at him again, seeing that he wanted this almost as much as she did. She nodded. "That would help." She agreed. She paused a moment then, "How long had you known him?"

"A little over ten years." He answered quietly, "He was the first prosecutor I worked with when I joined the CBI."

She nodded again at this and then said, "He was my first partner. Fresh out of the FBI Academy. I ended up in Philadelphia." He was watching her, his eyes on hers, waiting, encouraging almost, "He, I mean obviously we drifted but...But we kept in touch, where, where we could." She was speaking to her hands again.

"You were close?" he prompted gently.

"Yeah." She murmured, reluctantly. As close as anyone was ever allowed to get to her. "Yeah, I guess we were."

"How close?"

She looked up at him again, startled, almost offended, though there was nothing in his tone that would have justified that. He was blunt, to the point, that was no secret. In fact, it was something she liked and appreciated about him. Transparency bred trust. And that came hard enough with her. But this clipped remark felt almost cold. Invasive. Offensive.

"I'm sorry." He told her a moment later, picking up on her upset and responding to it, "I didn't mean to offend you." He told her.

"You didn't." She lied automatically.

"I did." He persisted stubbornly. "I apologize."

"You're forgiven." She told him lightly trying to deflect some of the discomfort that had blossomed briefly between them. She waited a moment then said, "Are you asking if we were romantically involved?"

"Would it offend you if I was?" he asked her, uncharacteristically cautious.

The corners of her mouth twitched as she said in a measured voice, "I would wonder why you thought it was any of your business."

"I know it's not." He said quietly, "But you know I'm not asking for the sake of prying into your personal life." He added fairly.

"No." She said after a moment considering this, "You're not." She breathed, almost more to herself than to him. He was worried about her, she realised. Genuinely. He wanted to understand. To help.

"It's complicated." She muttered finally. She didn't know what to tell him. She didn't know what she could tell him without crossing some kind of line with him. She didn't know if crossing that line with him was okay. It had been so long. So long since anyone had managed to get inside. She wasn't sure if she was ready.

But she trusted him. She had let herself be alone with him. Let herself tell him things. Was willing to talk. Was willing to listen. Was willing to allow their relationship to evolve past colleagues, past friends even. She almost wanted those things. And she trusted him. She trusted him...

Enough, enough to be here with him, enough to open up, enough to let him in. She trusted him.

"Have you ever been undercover?" she found herself asking quietly.

"A few times." He admitted carefully, wondering where she was going with this.

"What was the longest you did it for?" She pressed.

"Two, three weeks." He shrugged, still looking a little lost.

"And you came home most nights?" She went on, "Back to your flat, your things, your life, right?"

"Right." He agreed. Waiting her out now, following her line of conversation even if she wasn't sure where he was going.

She wasn't looking at him anymore. Staring straight ahead, seeing something that no-one else could. She was shaking too. She felt his hand brush gently against her side, surprised when her body allowed, and almost welcomed the uninvited contact.

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes again, only aware now of how close he was. And how somehow that was okay.

She swallowed and shifted slightly, her eyes flickering away from his again as she breathed, "What about deep cover? Where you don't surface, you don't come back home, you don't come back to yourself for, for weeks, months. You have to live as someone else, pick who you are apart and stuff something else into the holes and know that if you're not that person then they'll kill you? Have you ever had to do that?" Her voice had begun to run away with her towards the end and had not stopped as she went on, her head running with the thread of discomfort that it had been picking away at all night and had unravelled her at the slightest tug from him.

"No." He told her, his voice strange, blunt, to the point, as ever, but somehow soft, somehow sympathetic and understanding, impossible when projected onto the only word that assured her that he could never understand. Yet it comforted her all the same.

"He was my first." She said. Even as the words spilled from her as though they were liquid, upset and uncontrollable, she never knew why she was telling him this, "My first partner of r a deep cover op. It, it was a drug ring in Philadelphia. They wanted people on the inside. We were still pretty new, both of us, no friends or family in the area who would miss us if we went underground for a couple of weeks. And we were more easily replaceable than others."

She hesitated for a moment, struggling with herself, her voice too high when she said, "Ironic isn't it? The more replaceable you are the more valuable that makes you to them?" She gave herself a little shake, clearing her throat and trying to get her trembling hands under control, without success before saying, "It was only supposed to be for a few weeks. But it kept getting more and more complicated and we were in way to deep for them to be able to pull us out." She told him shakily, "Undercover we, we were lovers." She blurted out, her body tensing a little as she spoke, though she was not sure why, "We played our parts' well...Too well some people thought." She muttered, hunching in on herself, almost defensively, "We had to, we'd have been killed otherwise but..."

"How did you feel?" he asked her softly, his fingers wandering protectively towards hers but not quite making contact.

"I don't know." She whispered, a faint shiver running through her.

She felt his fingers gently brush over hers, his touch soft and warm and comforting. She glanced down and watched as her own fingers quietly laced together with his, his thumb gently stroking the top of her hand.

"Take your time." He advised gently.

She shifted uncomfortably, not looking at him, but not pulling away from him either.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this." She choked suddenly, "It's not, I don't, I mean, I, I've never told anyone about it before..." She said, flushing slightly.

"You don't have to." He told her softly.

"I know." She said, letting their eyes meet again, "But I have to tell someone something. I, I need someone to understand. I just, I just need someone to listen for just a little while, I-"

"I understand." He said quietly, giving her hand a small squeeze.

"It's hard to explain." She said slowly, deciding that she had gone too far with this to back out now, "I, we were under together for almost six months. And we were close. But we weren't...We weren't ourselves. We were different people for six months, we had to be. I could never tell what him was and what was something else, something that he was putting on to keep us safe. And things got confusing sometimes. But I knew that he was the only one who knew who we really were. When sometimes even I'd forgotten. And for six months he was the only person who knew who I really was..." she trailed off, considering for a moment, struggling to put her thoughts into words for him, "But when we came back and they pulled us out, he was the only person who knew, who knew what I'd done." She breathed softly, shaking worse than ever and prompting him to lightly place his other hand over hers as well to try and ground her a little.

"I changed because of that op." She whispered hoarsely, "We both did. I, I had to do things that...To stop criminals, to do the job that I signed up for they made me become a criminal. To get, to get justice I had to...To do the right thing I, I did...things that I...That were so far from the right thing that...Only he could ever justify them to me. Because he'd been through them too. And now he's gone-"She paused again, almost stubbornly meeting his eyes as she said; "He was the only person that I could talk to about that except...Except for you. And I, I still don't know, I don't know why, I don't know, I'm sorry." She broke off again, trembling and shaking her head, pulling her hands from his, disgusted with herself.

She never spoke about that. Never. With anyone. She never spoke about herself like that. Never let anyone see that doubt that insecurity. But he had opened her up. He had opened her up and pulled all of this from her so easily. She had lost control. And she had no way of getting it back. So she had reached out and clung onto him when he had offered her support and now she had no idea how to let him go.

"Hey." He began, a little sharply, "Hey." He repeated, more softly this time, "it's okay." He told her, a strange emotion stirring in his voice as he spoke.

He took her hand again and held it as he said, "I know what it's like. To have been someone else. To have been forced to change. To have done things that I'm not proud of and that everyone else is. To have lost someone that I didn't realise was so important until they were gone. I understand."

He did. She could tell. From the way he was looking at her, from the way that he was holding her hand. He was close. So close. She could feel heat radiating from his skin, she could feel his body taut beside her, could see the grief in his eyes. Grief, for the friend that they had both lost, the understanding that they shared and that they would never have wished on anyone but that they had needed to find in each other now. That relief. That guilty relief that they both felt upon finding it. She could feel him reaching out to her. She could feel herself letting him in. She knew that that was okay now.

"How?" she asked quietly, her hand squeezing his.

"War." He told her shortly, stiffening and then going on, turning to her, "I killed people. People with families. Partners. Children. I killed them. And they told me that that was my job. That that was keeping people safe. That that was a good thing. That it made me a hero..." He broke off abruptly, unable to meet her eyes, but his hand was still tightly gripping on to hers.

"That's why you joined the CBI?" She asked.

"Yes." He murmured quietly, "And your undercover op is why you're not in Philadelphia anymore?"

"Yeah." She breathed.

She turned to look at him again. It had been so long since she had told anyone this that she had almost forgotten what it felt like, to be this open and this intimate with another human being. It had been so long since she had trusted someone as much as she trusted him. She had no idea how she had been so blind to how close they had gotten for so long that it had taken something like this to make her notice. To make them both notice.

"It was. It was...I didn't know." She took a breath, "Everything changed. I, I shut down a bit, I pushed everyone away. It, this job, all it did was..."

"Get people you cared about hurt." He supplied softly.

"Yeah." She whispered, her eyes catching his again, "It was too hard to have anything like a relationship with anyone. I lost contact with everyone because I'd been away for so long. I lost myself a little too. It was, it was easier to be on my own, to take care of myself and convince myself I didn't need anyone." She found herself confessing to him.

They were pressed so close together now that she could feel his body move as he breathed beside her.

"You got lonely?" He said quietly, grim experience bleeding into his words as he went on, "And you convince yourself that's better but..." He trailed off caught up in her, as though only just realising how close she was. His hand was resting on her side, faint, questioning pressure that she allowed, moving in closer to him, finishing for him.

"But in the end you're just lonely..." She hesitated, her eyes flickering away for a second before finding his again.

"I'm so tired of being lonely." She murmured, "I'm so tired of having no-one I just, I just want a little human contact. I, I just want someone."

His hand was tightening on her side. His eyes finding hers. Realising that he wanted that too.

"I want you." She whispered, daringly, the words falling from her before she realised what was happening.

"Kim." He breathed softly.

She looked at him. Her lips slightly parted. His voice soft and intimate. The use of her name and the familiarity he allowed, the invitation, the acceptance, the unspoken confirmation that he wanted her.

She kissed him.

Leaning in, her lips pressing against his, gentle and faint, sinking in to him, and letting her lips p[en beneath his, feeling him do the same, his hands on her waist, holding her close to him.

"Kim." He murmured again as she pulled away for a moment. Her eyes opening. Each of them watching the other. Finding the approval that they needed in an instant. Their lips crashing together once more.

* * *

A/N: I just love this pairing and I wanted to write something for them, so this is the result. This is intended to be multi-chapter so I'll post more if you guy's want more. I don't think this is the most popular ship in the world so any and all feedback is very much appreciated! Thanks for reading! (:


	2. Under Cover Lovers

_A/N: M rating for this chapter and a warning for sexual content, if that's not your cup of tea avert your eyes elsewhere, otherwise please enjoy. Thanks for coming back for chapter 2! And thank you for your lovely comments and encouragement!_

* * *

**Chapter 2 **

Under Cover Lovers

He let his fingers slowly tangle into her hair, pulling lightly and then more sharply as she responds to him, her fingers biting into his sides, her kiss becoming rougher. His hand slides up and down her back, gripping on to her dress and cradling her against him.

Feeling was pulsing through her from the points where his body met hers. Warmth rippled through the numbness that had flooded her since she heard the news; as though he was being carried through her bloodstream to every part of her, setting her on fire and bringing her back to life better than a shot of adrenaline.

His hands grip tightly onto her waist, lifting her easily into his lap. Her tongue presses urgently against his lips as he does so. Her body melted against him, relaxing in to him, trusting herself to him, letting him take over a little, pushing in to her, deepening the kiss.

Her lungs were beginning to cry out for air, the brief snatches of oxygen that she was able to steal weren't enough but she couldn't let him go. Her palms were pressed flat against his chest, her fingers pulling apart the buttons on the jacket he worse, curling around the hem as it fell open, giving her something to ground herself with, using it to tug him closer to her.

Her hands were sliding under his jacket, dragging it from his shoulders; carried away by their kiss and unwilling to stop now. Her arms were wrapped around him, holding him to her, his doing the same to her, their bodies pressed so closely that she could feel the heat pouring from his skin, even through his shirt.

She finally broke the kiss, panting faintly, her fingers searching blindly at his shirt, picking it apart. He was softly murmuring her name between gentle kisses. His hands were gently peeling off the light shawl that was keeping him from her, his lips continuing to brush tenderly against hers.

His fingertips found her skin hot and flushed beneath his touch. She shivered as he touched her, her own fingers finding the warmth of his chest murmuring beneath them as she undid the buttons on his shirt. She heard her name again falling softly from his lips once more, soft and tender.

She looked up again, her hands still holding on to him, keeping them pressed together, his hands curled around her hips, reinforcing this.

"Kim..." He breathed gently, his hand moving from her waist to tenderly cup her cheek, his thumb lightly stroking her skin. "Kim."

He didn't have to say anything else. She knew. Knew why he was doing this, knew why there was doubt flickering in his eyes and why his touches had become light and protective.

"Yes." She told him firmly, pressing her lips against his, "Yes, Kimball. I'm sure...I'm sure."

He would understand. She knew. He wouldn't need any more than that from her. He trusted her judgement, he just had to be sure himself.

He kissed her. Hard.

She responded to him, tearing open his shirt as she neared the bottom and lost patience. She pulled it from him, dropping it on the floor behind them and letting her hands reach behind his shoulders, his fingers burying themselves in her thick hair.

She was breathing hard when he pulled away from her without warning, causing her eyes to snap open in surprise.

She had barely opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong when the words were replaced with a low, throaty moan of pleasure as his lips found her neck and began gently sucking there, instinct seeming to guide him to where she was most sensitive.

A soft gasp burst from her lips, her hands reaching out and desperately searching for him, holding on tightly when she found him. Her eyes clamped shut. Her senses filled by him. Every breath she took drew him deep into her lungs, drowning her in him.

She could still taste his kiss on her tongue. Hungering for him. The soft sound of his lips at her neck filled her ears, mingling with her own throaty snarls of pleasure.

His mouth was hot and barely as delicate as he needed to be, his teeth nipping at her skin every now and then making her shiver.

Her nerves were on fire, sparking at the lightest touch, his kiss causing pleasure to rip through her with apparent ease.

Her breath was coming in short, desperate pants now as she struggled to control herself. Her body arched against him in pleasure, electricity crackling through her spine and she clung to him, whispering his name.

He was making her feel again. He was bringing her back to herself. Bringing her back to him. And she was coming willingly. Rushing to him, surrendering to him, her lips finding him and kissing him, her body pressing against his, melting against him, wanting more of him, all of him, even as she gave him all of herself.

He was softly murmuring her name between kisses, easing off a little, letting her catch her breath. His hand was gently cradling her body to him, his other hand seizing a fistful of her hair as she began to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses across his neck. His fingers slid the zip of her dress down to her waist, his hand lingering there for a moment.

He paused. Savouring her. Then began to tease her from her dress, slipping it from her shoulders, his hands lightly caressing every inch of her as he reveals her to him, bit by bit, tormenting them both.

His lips gently trail delicate kisses from her collarbone, down over her chest to her stomach, feeling her relax, closing her eyes and letting his hands gently wander over her as he slowly and gently let the black silk fall from her like water.

She felt him pull her free of the dress at last and took her cue, undoing his belt and tugging his trousers from him. Her actions were and at odds with his gentle patience; rough, hungry, demanding.

She kissed him again without warning, her lips missing the feeling of his pressed against them. He indulged her for a moment, responding to her, his hands settling on her hips. She felt him beginning to guide her back down gently before bracing himself over her and kissing her again.

His fingers begin to gently tease her through her underwear. Pleasure ripples through her and she hisses faintly, grabbing the sheets beneath her and trying to ground herself as he does she. Panting, sweat slick on her skin now, feeling herself close to breaking point and unable to wait any longer, kissing him roughly and tugging him down onto her, irritably pulling away the last pieces clothing separating them.

He slides her underwear slowly down her legs, taking his time. Her eyes find his as he hovers over her again, leaning down and tenderly kissing her as he enters her. She breaks the kiss, gasping, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out, a rough growl escaping from her throat as he begins to thrust inside her. She clings to him, her nails biting into his skin, pulling him closer, kissing him and letting him guide her body into a rhythm with him.

Faint whispers of ecstasy begin to spill from her lips when she shatters against him without warning, nipping at his shoulder in her pleasure, her nails raking over his sides, mouthing wordlessly against his skin, feeling the tension in his body snap a second later as he softly snarls her name, his lips murmuring over her neck, his body collapsing against her a moment later.

They lie tangled in the dark, panting and struggling to calm themselves down. He shifts slightly and her body protests automatically as he withdraws, her hands clinging to him instinctively.

He kisses her gently, settling her again, somehow reassuring her in that moment that he has no plans to leave her just yet, slowly moving off of her to lie beside her.

She relaxes again as their bodies connect once more, side by side. She doesn't want him to leave. Which is unusual for her. She wouldn't exactly call herself a stranger to casual sex or one night stands. But she never stays any longer than she has to. She's never wanted to. It never works.

The job is too much of a barrier between her and anyone else. They never understand. They can never adjust to her lifestyle. She can't say she blames them. And it was always just easier for everyone involved if she never lingered where she could never be wanted.

Yet now she can't leave. And she couldn't bear it if he left either. He likes the feeling of him there beside her. The warm pressure of his body pressed close to her was comforting. It soothed her. She trusted him. She felt safe with him. She had missed feeling that way with anyone.

She liked being with him like this. She had missed being with someone the way that they were together now, close; intimate; comfortable. She had missed feeling this good with another person; _because_ of another person.

She had been lonely. She had been so lonely, and she hadn't really noticed until now. Until she felt so safe in another person's arms again. And from the way his arms slid around her and held her closer to him; she guessed that he felt the same. She closed her eyes and let their bodies melt together. Their skin was still scorching and sensitive to him beside her, his body brushing against hers every now and then and sending ripples through her.

She felt him turn onto his side, his arms wrapping around her and pulling against him. His body fit around her like he'd been made for this, holding her tight to him. His lips gently feathered the back of her neck, just enough to let her know he was there. His hand settled protectively on her stomach and she placed hers on top, his skin was still hot and she liked the way he let his thumb absently stroke her as he held her.

She exhaled slowly, letting her body cool down, letting herself unravel slightly in his arms, her muscles relaxing, the tension in her fleeing from his touch. They lay entwined together on the bed, breathing each other in, savouring the time they had stolen from the night.

She had stopped feeling anything but him. Had ceased to be aware of anything in this world but him. His body wrapped around her, his fingers drawing endless, absent circles on her shoulder, his lips still brushing over her neck, his breath hot and soft on her skin, his chest rhythmically rising and falling as he breathed beside her, his heartbeat, that she was sure she could feel pulsing through her body, filling her with feeling, keeping her lost in him.

She was at peace with him. She was at peace with herself for the first time in so long that she had forgotten what it felt like. What it was like to be trapped in a moment and never want to escape. She never wanted to open her eyes again, she never wanted him to leave her side, she never wanted to leave this bed, she never wanted this to end.

She wants to be with him. She wants that until they both faded into nothingness together.

His lips paused for a moment on her neck and she shifted against him, confused.

"Kim." He murmured lightly in her ear, bringing her back to herself a little, "Are you alright?" He asked her quietly.

The question was more of a reassurance than an expression of concern.

"Yes, Kimball." She breathed softly, pressing closer to him to further her point.

He smiled faintly and lightly kissed her again.

They lay entangled together for so long that time seemed to stop for a little while. But pieces of her began to slowly remember where they belonged, trickling back and making her shiver. The reality of the situation was forcing itself on her without warning. Doubt crept in on her like cold, stealing into her like a shadow and she trembled a little.

It was good. It was so good. She knew him. She trusted him. It worked. They worked. It felt right. It felt as though they had been like this for years. Instinct had driven them. It was natural. It was easy. She wanted more. She wanted so much more from him.

If it had been anyone else, anyone but him, this would have been the best thing that she had done in so long. He knew her. He understood her. She had opened up to him. Let him in with barely a thought. He was good with her. He was good _for_ her. Everything was right. But regret was suddenly flooding her.

It was a mistake. It was all a mistake. She was his superior for a start. She shouldn't have let him in like that. She shouldn't have shown him that part of her. That vulnerability. And if anyone found out about this, if anyone found out about them, if anyone knew what they'd done they could both lose everything.

Panic was pulsing through her system. She didn't know how she felt. She didn't know what was beside. She didn't know what she wanted. She didn't know what she was supposed to want.

All she knew was that he shouldn't have this effect on her.

She closed her eyes feeling his arms tighten around her, worry murmuring through him. She lightly squeezed the hand that he still held tightly on her stomach to calm him.

Her mind took a step back and began blocking him out. It wasn't him. It was her. She had been upset, emotional. She had wanted comfort, she had wanted someone, someone she knew, of course she had turned to him, of course she had gone to him when she had wanted someone, when she had needed someone, when, oh God...

Grief suddenly crashed around her. He had found a loose thread on her earlier and had gently pulled on it until she had come undone in his arms and now the emotions she had tried so hard to keep in check were threatening to drown her. She felt her throat tightening convulsively as tears formed in her eyes. She blinked them back, hunching away from him.

They returned in force a second later with a flood of grief and panic and uncertainty crashing over her at once and confusing her.

She sprang up and staggered away from the bed, keeping her back to him. She heard him stir behind her, concerned.

"I'm fine." She muttered quickly, forcing herself to turn and face him, fighting the urge to crawl back into bed with him, keeping her voice as steady as she could as she said, "I'm fine, I just, I was just thinking that, that I should probably be going now." Her voice was too high, and too casual and she was sure he wouldn't believe her but she could not back out now, "We don't want to get caught together, so, I'm just going to-"

"No."

She stared at him in surprise at his curt interruption.

"No." He said again, more softly this time, "Stay," he told her gently, adding a moment later, "If you don't want to get caught you'll have an easier time of it in the morning when the halls aren't crawling with people coming up to bed."

She almost bought it. Almost. His voice was steady and composed, his tone practical, believable. With his voice alone she would have done anything for him but his eyes gave him away. It was bullshit. All of it. And they both knew it. Neither of them gave a damn about getting caught by anyone here. They both wanted her to stay because neither of them could stand being alone tonight.

A shiver ran through her. She found herself nodding. Agreeing. It couldn't hurt. Surely it couldn't hurt. To finish what they had started. For this one night. This one night alone.

Her earlier reasoning deserted her. Or perhaps she found she just didn't care anymore. She still wanted to be with him...But her doubts still lingered for all of that. So too did her grief. It was still coursing through her body pulsing through her bloodstream with every beat of her heart. She wanted to be with him but not like this. Not in the state that she was rapidly heading towards.

She didn't want him to know how upset she was. She didn't' want him to be able to look into her eyes and see the vulnerability and insecurity that she hid so well from everyone but him.

And she couldn't let him see her cry. She could never let anyone see that.

But her body had turned against her and tears were threatening in her eyes once more. A hasty excuse sprang to desperate lips,

"Do you, do you mind if I use your shower?"

His eyes widened for a moment and he said nothing, prompting her to shrug and mutter pathetically, "habits."

He blinked once more then nodded. "Sure." He told her evenly, "Take your time."

He knew. Knew she was upset. Knew she needed time to herself to calm down a little. Knew all of it. But he wouldn't push her. He would never do that. Not when she was clearly uncomfortable talking about it. A part of her had almost expected that. He was a good agent. Of course he would notice. And she wasn't exactly herself tonight, he could hardly fail to spot that.

Still, another part of her almost hated him for it.

But mostly she hated herself, For making it so easy. For letting him in at all. For not walking away from him. For being unable to. For that part of her who knew how easy it was for him to see her, to really see her and wanted him all the more for that because no-one else ever could.

She turned away from him and locked herself in the bathroom. She hastily turned on the shower and slid down the wall, cradling her knees to her chest and praying that the sound of the water rushing against the tiles would muffle her faint cries as she let the tears that had been building up in her for weeks finally fall.

It was stupid, she thought, after how intimate they had just been, after what they had shared already that night that she couldn't bring herself to share her grief with him, that a part of her was afraid to let anyone see her cry. Even him. With whom she had shown more of herself to than anyone that night. Outside and in...

The reticence was a legacy from her mother, no doubt. But she had too much conspiring for the attention of her emotions already without letting that thought compete as well. She blocked it out and turned back to her sadness, to the tears that were beginning to stain her cheeks and rub her throat raw.

She wasn't exactly a stranger to funerals. In the job that she did they were difficult to avoid, but they rarely hit her as hard as this one had. He had been there during a part of her life where nothing had made sense but him. And even that only barely.

She had lost herself so many times and he had always pulled her back, rescued her from the stupid things that she had done after that op, saved her from herself when she had been at her worst. He had been her rock, her partner, and she had owed him a debt that she could now never repay because he was gone...

She picked herself up at that and forced herself into the shower. The water was scalding and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from crying out and bringing Cho to check on her. She set it to a lower temperature and then began to turn slowly beneath the jet of water, her thoughts racing unpleasantly.

She dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to think what to do. It had rattled her when she had lost him. When she had gotten that call and found out he was dead. It had felt as though she had lost a little part of herself He had known her, her thoughts, her moods, almost before she knew them herself. He had grounded her. She would listen to him when she had gone deaf to everyone else. And now he was gone. And there was no-one left in her life like that.

A shiver ran through her, despite the heat of the shower and she felt alone.

Unless...

Her thoughts wandered back to Cho. She had told him about that op, things that she had never told anyone before. And she had been upset, yes...but she was still glad that she had told him. She didn't regret letting him, in, not really, didn't regret letting him help her. Even though she was hiding from him now...Perhaps that said more about her than it did about him.

They had gotten closer at work too, almost without her noticing. And she had told him. Maybe not all of it but she had told him...

She closed her eyes again, focussing on her breathing. She calmed herself down and finished up then, stepped out of the shower and dried off, cursing faintly when she realised that she had nothing to wear.

She tugged a bathrobe from the back of the door and shrugged it on. She wiped her eyes quietly and padded back outside, irritably puling the bathrobe over again as it slipped sideways a little.

"Here." He told her, handing her one of the t-shirts from his own bag, clearly having anticipated and countered this problem before she had.

"Thanks." She muttered, accepting it and not the ready excuse that it gave her to escape back to her room.

She tugged the t-shirt on along with a pair of underwear. It smelled like him and that made her smile a little as she noticed that. I t was also a little too big for her and hung loosely off of her but that was okay too.

"Are you alright?" he asked her flatly, watching her closely.

"Yeah." She lied, "Yeah I'm fine."

He hesitated and she knew that he didn't believe her but he nodded, not willing to try and force her to tell her anymore and invade her privacy, risking upsetting her further.

"Come on." He murmured softly.

His fingers curled gently around her waist. He body welcomed his touch and she let him lead her back to the bed. She slid under the covers first and he followed a moment later. The unspoken invitation and acceptance of this arrangement presented and agreed to in a second's look they shared.

They lay side by side, their bodies brushing against each other when they moved. Exhaustion suddenly settled over her and she felt herself reluctantly sinking in to an altogether too familiar nightmare.

She was forced to watch from above, as always, an empty puppet suspended on strings, useless, helpless. She couldn't help. She couldn't run. She couldn't fight. She could only watch.

She could feel the gun on her hip but she couldn't reach it. She couldn't even scream to warn him. Her voice had been stolen from her too.

Still she tried.

She struggled and twisted and fought against her bonds but they only cut into her wrists and ankles and body and sent a flurry of scarlet tears onto the scene below.

Because somehow, however much she fought and thrashed and even closed her eyes at the end. She always saw him push forwards ,challenge, protest. Bravery. Stupidity. She was never sure. But she always froze as the gun fired. As she was sure the bullet ripped through them both.

Only then was she allowed to go to him. Too late. Always too late. When she screams around him had long since faded to broken, haunted echoes of a tragedy that the world had already begun to forget.

But this time when she knelt beside him to tug him into her lap and give him what comfort she could as he did it was not him. Her stomach clenched painfully and she gasped his name in terror and grief,

"Kimball!"

She was awake again.

Panting. Drenched in cold sweat. Her hands clenched tightly around nothing. His name still on her lips. She hunched in on herself. Her throat closing over like a vice, making it almost impossible to breathe, her eyes stinging with terrified tears.

She could feel the heat from him beside her. The reassuring pressure of his body there. She could feel it rising up to press against her as he breathed. He was fine...He was fine. She was fine. But her heart was still pounding in her chest as though it was trying to escape, blood was still thundering in her ears and her body was still shaking with the effort of having to contain her silent crying.

She turned onto her side, away from him, her shoulders shaking, stuffing her fist into her mouth to muffle her cries, squeezing her eyes shut and curling in on herself.

Her whole body was shaking and tears were still flooding down her cheeks even as she fought to make them stop.

She felt his arms tenderly slide around her. Pulling her in close. He let his body slowly wrap around hers, enveloping her, trying to help her.

She flinched automatically at the contact, the insinuation, the pity. She tried to squirm away from him, struggling pathetically, her will to fight this any longer all but gone. But some instincts still lingered from childhood that made her reject him, made her withdraw from him and pull away. The walls that had been built so high for so long and had seemed so strong had crumbled before but now she scrambled to rebuild, to keep him out, to take care of herself.

She didn't want his help. She didn't _need _his help. And she couldn't let him think that she did. Her body was rigid, desperately trying to shut him out, her muscles hard and tense, closed off.

But he did not draw away from her. He persisted. His hold tender and intended to comfort, which it did if she would let him. She would not accept him, she couldn't, and choked thickly, "I'm fine."

He ignored her feeble protests, his thumb gently stroking her shoulder.

"I'm fine." She repeated stubbornly, her firm tone ruined by the tremble in her voice, "I'm fine. It was, it was just a nightmare." She pressed, almost telling herself now as much as him, "I'm fine." She tried again, but her words were lost in the strangled whisper that her voice had become. And she could feel herself melting in to his tender embrace once more.

His warmth was spreading through her numb, taut muscles and calming her down a little.

Though when she tried insisting once more, "I'm oaky, Kimball, I'm-" Her voice broke entirely and she shattered against him and he pulled her in close and held her tight, gently stroking her hair and murmuring to her.

She turned over in his arms until she was facing him, burrowing in to his chest and softly whispering his name and her thanks over and over again.

She could feel herself shaking still. But after that nightmare, only his arms around her, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling against her, the steady beat of his heart could have soothed her. And it did. He did.

She could feel the terror that had flooded her veins slowly draining from her. She could feel her body beginning to respond to him. Shifting slightly to fit a little better with him. She felt safe and content buried in his hold, surrounded by his warmth, finding safety in the darkness he provided that was lost in the suffocating dark that the room forced on her.

Once she felt herself settle a little she expected the gentle questioning, the push for answers, for an explanation, for him to try and press her into telling him _something_.

But it never came.

He just held her in his arms, murmuring softly to her whenever faint tremors shivered along her length, his hand now absently rubbing her back. She could feel her body relaxing again, slipping once more into exhaustion. Her eyes feebly failing to stay open. She found herself quietly drifting off once more. He gently soothed her and she felt herself sinking in to sleep once more with his name on her lips.


End file.
